


When the Bough Breaks

by lovely_persona



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovely_persona/pseuds/lovely_persona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It surprised him how even his tone was, even though the burn of rage and sorrow sat behind his sternum and made his stomach flip. Seeing hunters die was another fact of the lifestyle. He mourned them, and within time, it got easier accepting they were gone. He didn't know if he would be able to do the same thing with this particular hunter because Dean and Sam weren't just other hunters. They were his boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Bough Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural doesn't belong to me. I just play in the sandbox.

It wasn't really the normal thing to do: hunters usually took their dead as is and would wrap them in a sheet just before they set them on the funeral pyre. The tips of their feet were usually the first things to be covered, finishing at their head. Sometimes, it took two to three sheets if the wounds were especially severe. That meant the clothes they died in were the clothes they would be wearing to their funeral.

A handful of hunters dressed as nice as they could for that reason. It was a dangerous, thankless profession. Good people, and even sometimes, the not-so-good people, slept soundly in their beds but did not know the reason they could do that was because of people like them.

Bobby searched the house for a proper sheet. With Lillith's childlike tastes, there wasn't even a plain one to be found. They were usually embroidered with fluffy animals if the pattern didn't take over the whole thing. The best one he could find was a pale yellow one with pale orange flowers on it. Dean wouldn't like it. He would even make a remark or two, usually something about a slight on his masculinity which would always be countered with an "Idjit" and the discussion would be done before it ever really started.

He slowly made his way down the stairs. It was eerily quiet. He half-expected not seeing Sam at all.

Hell, it's not like he would blame him: the kid lost his older brother in a deal that was made because of him. Guilt on top of grief would destroy a normal person, but when he saw Sam cradling Dean in the dining room, in the same exact position he first discovered them in, he knew the only thing close to normal Sam had ever been was going away to Stanford and that didn't last too long.

Sam had stopped crying. He sat on the floor, legs out in front of him, Dean's upper body clutched tightly to his chest. All the blood, darkening around the edges on the floor and the flesh torn into ribbons on Dean's leg, was proof enough that the horror that happened was so very real and this wasn't just a scene of exhaustion and rest. Long arms held the motionless body tightly, protectively. Redness rimmed Sam's swollen eyes, the cries coming out silently through tears and slightly tremoring of his shoulders.

Bobby came in, his footsteps loud enough to announce his entrance, but Sam didn't acknowledge it until he spoke. "We've got to get him out of here," he said softly. Sam looked up. He opened his mouth to say something, but he shut it immediately and glanced back down.

"I'm sure I didn't get all the demons. One of them will be wantin' to possess him if they're still out there," Bobby continued. It surprised him how even his tone was, even though the burn of rage and sorrow sat behind his sternum and made his stomach flip. Seeing hunters die was another fact of the lifestyle. He mourned them, and within time, it got easier accepting they were gone. He didn't know if he would be able to do the same thing with this particular hunter because Dean and Sam weren't just _other_ hunters. They were his boys. He raised them, fed them, clothed them, helped them. Their father was still their father, but Bobby took it on himself to be one to them too. He would never replace John Winchester, he would just be the other father figure in their lives. So when John did pass away-- _damn Winchesters always sacrificing themselves for each other_ \--he stepped up entirely and was determined to be there.

"Where are we going to take him?" Sam asked quietly. "We can take him outside of town and give him a hunter's funer--"

Sam interjected, "We're not burning him."

Bobby became speechless. The anger he tried so hard to choke down came out through clenched teeth, "Excuse me?"

"I said we're not burning him."

"You're gonna wanna run that by me one more time, because I could've sworn I heard you say you were being a dumbass and not giving your brother the funeral he needs," Bobby said. "The funeral he _deserves_ ," he finished when his comment was met with silence. "We're burying him, and that's that," Sam said simply. "Why don't we just leave him here then, since all you're aiming for is having your brother's body get possessed! Cut out the hard work and just serve him up on a silver platter!" Bobby spat.

"When he comes back, he's going to need his body," Sam practically whispered.  

Bobby was dumbstruck, "What are you thinking of meddlin' with, boy?"  Sam didn't look at him.  "Another Crossroads deal?  Another one?  Did you goddamn _idjits_ not get the memo that that's a stupid idea and will only lead back to this?!"  

"It's not a Crossroads deal, I swear, Bobby," Sam replied.   
  
"Then, what in God's name are you saying?"

"There's got to be another way to bring him back.  I want to find it."

Sam broke down into a sob.  He clutched Dean's body closer, as if just being so tight against him, he would breathe life into it.  Lord knows if grief could resurrect the dead, Dean would be awake again and be safe another time over.

Bobby didn't want to argue, though he didn't like it.  

"Okay then . . .  Have it your way . . .  But if you make a deal that swaps you out for him, you wouldn't have to wait until your lease is up because I'll be doing the killing for them," Bobby warned.  It was an empty veiled threat, but Sam nodded as if it completely weren't.  He would certainly gain Bobby's ire and wrath, though nothing would stop him if he had really wanted to do another deal.  One life would just be swapped for the other.  The cycle was infinite, unbroken.  No one would learn.  Bobby would watch helplessly, and he hated being that most of all.

"We have to leave.  We need to wrap him up."

Sam nodded again.

Bobby opened the sheet on the ground next to them.  It wasn't fully spread out since it was long enough to wrap him two times over.  Slowly, gingerly, Sam lifted Dean and put him on it.  Dean's chest was practically gone, numerous thick gashes from jagged nails exposing the cavity and its insides.  His blood was slowly clotting, a few small rivulets of freshness running down when he was moved.  His grey shirt was torn practically clean off, what little fabric that did remain drenched in the blood.  Bobby moved Dean when Sam needed help winding and took over when Sam could no longer do it.  Before the wrapping was finished, Sam had asked Bobby to stop and removed the amulet from around Dean's neck.  The black cord was long enough just to drape over without disconnecting the ends and Sam secured it under his shirt before helping Bobby finish.  Dean's eyes, the pupils blown out and almost overtaking the green, were closed.  If the splattering of blood wasn't on his face as well, he would've looked like he was just swaddled and sleeping comfortably.

There wasn't any comfort where Dean was now . . .  No one could trick themselves in helping the grief speed along faster that he was in a better place because he wasn't in one.  
  It was difficult to understand.  The pain wouldn't dull, only remain.

  
They would bury Dean on the side of a lonesome road outside of Pontiac, Illinois in a basic wooden coffin.  The wood was strong enough to hold the earth when it was shoveled back on top, but weak enough to be broken through if a miracle happened of Dean walking amongst the living once more.  Wards and salt covered the coffin, prayers were said and the gravesite was left undisturbed.  

 

Other than a humble cross, you wouldn't know what would be underneath...

-End-


End file.
